That is a weird dream.
I came from a large family of voracious readers--we didn't have television in the house, but apparently nobody felt the lack, as I don't recall anyone whining about it--and it was common to read at the dinner-table. The whole family, whatever was still at home the time I was around (many had already gone away to college or marriage),
always dined together.
At breakfast, for example, one would see my father at the head of the table, reading the
Omaha World-Herald, and then around the corner from him, my younger brother reading
Mad magazine. Then there would be one of my older sisters, reading
Modern Bride, and at the other end of the table, one of my older brothers, reading the sports pages of the
Denver Post. Then my mother, reading
Women's Day, and in between her and my father, the young lad franksolich reading a 1923 edition of the
Saturday Evening Post someone had found in his garage, and given me.
And then at lunch, there was my father again, reading the
Saturday Review (the mail had come in by then), then my younger brother reading
Boy's Life, and one of my older sisters, reading
Madamoiselle, then one of my older brothers reading the
Weekly Sporting News, after which my mother, reading the
Catholic Digest and finally myself, my face buried in an 1887 edition of
Harper's Weekly someone had found in his attic, and given me.
Finally, at supper, my father would be reading the
Lincoln Evening Journal, then my younger brother
Outdoor Life, and one of my older sisters, the latest issue of
Vanity Fair. After which one of my older brothers, reading the sports pages of the
Chicago Tribune, my mother with the
Reader's Digest, and finally myself, preoccupied with a 1902 edition of
Life magazine (the long-defunct humor magazine, not the later magazine) someone had found in his basement and given me.
So my knowledge of "current events" was, uh, rather dated. I grew up knowing more about Benito Mussolini than I did about Lyndon Johnson.
